Who I Think You Are
by Phoebonica
Summary: Kit returns to the remains of the Hotel Denouement, and finds she's not alone there...


Disclaimer: I'm not Daniel Handler, I don't own anything here, I'm just an obsessive fangirl with too much time on her hands.

**Who I Think You Are **

Kit wasn't sure why she'd gone back. She already knew all there was to know. The hotel was utterly destroyed, and the catalogue was hidden and would remain so. There was nothing to be gained by going back to sift through the burnt out wreckage, but she went anyway. This had once been sanctuary. This had almost been home.

And Dewey was gone. She hadn't believed it from the reporters or the singers or mill workers or fowl devotees, but she had to believe it from Jerome, who had come nervously to her and explained that he'd seen what really happened and it wasn't what everyone thought but no one else would listen and he didn't want to argue, especially with the judges who were very nice people, he was sure, but scared him a little. And when she didn't respond to what he'd told her but only sat there still and silent as a statue with her pale hands pressed against the curve of her stomach, he'd said, _Oh, I'm sorry, Kit. Was – was he a friend of yours?_ Jacques had liked him very much. She had to remind herself of that.

Dewey was gone, and yet she had to come back here, to see the empty patch of blackened ground and the pool now clogged with ash. Her foot brushed against something hard and she picked it up. A blackened inverse letter E, all that remained now of the sign.

"There's nothing here."

She looked up. Frank was walking toward her, shoes crunching over charcoal.

"Whatever you're looking for, it's not here," he said. "I've been here all morning. Nothing's left."

"I'm not looking for anything," she said, letting the E fall from her hands. "I just had to come."

He nodded, holding up a Thermos flask. "Would you like some tea? It's pretty cold out here."

"Okay." He unscrewed the lid of the Thermos and poured tea into it. It _was_ cold here, Kit realised as he handed it to her. Her fingers were almost numb. She cradled the cup in her hands, letting it warm her.

Frank picked up the E and walked over to the edge of the pond. He swung his arm back and sent the E flying out across the water. It landed in the centre, rippling the whole surface and sending the drifts of ash into swirling patterns. Frank watched, hands thrust deep into his pockets. The sight made Kit shiver. She walked over to him, reaching him as the last ripples died away.

"What can we do, Frank?" she said. "What's going to happen to us now?"

He turned to her with a look of faint incredulity. "What makes you think I'm Frank?"

The teacup crashed to the ground.

"What do you want, Ernest?" Kit was already backing away, horribly aware that the road was too far – even if she could have run normally, he'd catch up to her. And there were fallen beams everywhere. She couldn't afford to trip. "What are you doing here?"

He glared at her. "My brother just _died_!" he snarled, stepping forward as she stepped back so that the distance between them was always the same, close enough for him to reach out and grab her if he'd wanted to. "Maybe, just _maybe_, I'm here for the same reason you are! What did you think, Ms Perfect Volunteer? That I was just lurking round here with a poisoned Thermos in case someone I didn't like showed up?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you tried to kill me." If she ran _now_… she wouldn't get five steps. Once she might have risked it, but she couldn't any more. She had a passenger.

Ernest sneered. "Yeah, and there's no blood on _your_ hands, is there?"

Kit gasped, and stopped backing up. The freezing wind whipped round her and she crossed her arms over the baby, shielding it. "_La forza del destino_," she whispered, staring at the grey lake.

"What?"

"It wasn't the Baudelaires." She spoke mostly to herself. Tears fell, and were chilled and blown from her face by the wind. "And it wasn't Olaf. It was destiny. Fate. Karma." She shuddered, and wrapped her arms tighter. "It was because of me."

"_Wrong!_"

Kit jumped. It was a fairly good imitation of the clock. Ernest's voice seemed to echo. "Sorry, Kit," he continued. "It'd be nice to think life was that simple, but I'm afraid it doesn't work like that."

"And how would you know?" she snapped, absurdly offended that he'd contradicted her.

"Because if I thought you had anything to do with it, I really _would_ kill you, baby or no baby." She shrank back again in horror. "Oh, relax. I'm not _going_ to. But Dewey wasn't just yours."

She looked down at the ground, swallowing back tears. He was right. It didn't help much.

"You know," Ernest said, "I really thought you could tell us apart." His voice was much softer now. Not angry or cynical, just surprised.

"I thought I could tell everyone apart," Kit said. "Noble and wicked. Volunteers and villains."

Ernest shrugged. "That's where you went wrong, then. I'm not a villain or a volunteer any more. I'm an hotelier."

"You mean – what do you mean? You mean you're _leaving_?"

"Leaving. Starting over. Getting the hell out of all this mess while I still can. I think Frank is too, but he won't speak to me. He doesn't ever want to see this place again, though." He sighed and kicked at a piece of reception desk, which dissolved into ash. "I just came to say goodbye."

Kit couldn't speak for a while. "Good luck," she said eventually, and Ernest gave a bitter laugh.

"Yeah, I could use some of that. How about you? Sticking around?"

"I…" Kit took a couple of deep breaths. They tasted of ash. "I have to."

"That's the trouble with being a good guy, I guess. You're all so _committed_."

"It's not a question of… I don't have any choice."

"Yeah, okay. Whatever. I'd better go." He turned and started heading back to the road. After a few steps, he hesitated. "Hey, Kit…"

"Yes?"

He turned back to her, looking a little embarrassed. "Can I… say hello to my niece? Nephew? Whatever."

Part of her still wanted to scream _No! Don't you touch it!_ But she remembered his face when he'd looked into the water. She didn't see how she could refuse. "Okay," she said, and tried not to draw away when he touched her.

She felt the baby shift inside her. Ernest must have felt it too, because he looked surprised for a second and then grinned. "Hey, it kicked! I felt it kick!" He looked up at her, delighted, and in that moment he could have been any of them – no, not Dewey, he could never have been Dewey. But either of the others. Just a proud uncle.

He stood up, putting a hand on her shoulder for balance, and looked her straight in the eyes for the first time. She tensed, trying not to step back. His face was serious now. "Can I give you some advice?"

She heard herself say, "Okay," again.

He leaned in closer, and Kit shut her eyes. She could smell his cologne, a different kind than either Frank or Dewey had worn, and she wondered why she'd never realised _that_ was a difference between them and then he whispered five words to her, his mouth almost touching her ear.

"Don't go off the road."

It would have been poetic, she thought later, if when she opened her eyes he'd been gone. In fact he was just reaching the hedges. She watched him, a long, spindly figure struggling its way through.

The baby kicked again and she stroked the place gently, humming a soft tune. She'd have to go back soon. It was cold, and getting late. But she stayed a while longer, watching ripples on the surface of the pond.


End file.
